Wednesday, August 3, 2011

There was a time in my life that I consider to be my funniest. And I contribute each joke to bed bugs.

I was a joke gun. Locked, loaded, having everyone at work gripping their tummies after I shot them one at a time. It must have been the lack of sleep, and living in fear that while I was resting my sweet sweet head tiny bugs were eating me alive. Not to mention the bites were HUGE. Two, three in a row up my arm, and they itched and were tender and tight. URAAAGGG, I get so upset even thinking about it now.

Also at this time I was living in an apartment building where Tuesday night was the new Friday night. Every Tuesday someone was bumping jams and throwing ragers on the roof. One night it was so loud I literally woke up thinking their was a street festival outside. Then I looked out my window and saw a beer bottle sail from the roof into the street. WHAT THA? My boyfriend at the time was so gentle about the whole thing and would handle it with grace and ease...by pounding his fist into the floor and screaming like someone with turrets. I honestly didn't know some of the curse words he would use, but I would let him release his inner beast while I called the police.

You never know what you're going to say when you first get on the phone with 911.

"This is 911, please state your emergency."

"Yes, a large gathering of young college students has gathered on the roof of my apartment building. I have to wake up for work in 3 hours. My boyfriend is punching the floor like an angry caged gorilla, (at this point you've broken down into a fit of tears) and...and....I HAVING BED BUGSSSSSS."

"Is this a noise complaint?"

"YES! And they are throwing bottles off the roof. And they are all underage. And I swear I am not wasting your time, even though someone probably just murdered someone while a small child was kidnapped, I swear this will only take a few moments out of your busy day."

So here I am. It's 1:30am on a Tuesday night. I'm wearing my jammies, and am waiting at the front door of my building because the buzzer is broken, and I need to let the police in. While I'm standing their taxi after taxi is unloading college students coming to the biggest rager of the year. A few people stop to talk to me, and I warn them, "You can leave now, or you can leave when my friends the San Francisco Police Department arrive. Oh, and don't touch the walls or set your purse on anything, this building is swarming with BED BUGS."

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Do you ever remind yourself that the everyday people are watching you, and judging you, and making assumptions about you all based solely on how you are walking down the street right then at that very moment. Do you dress each morning thinking "oh man, today might be the big day when I walk down the street and run head on into Elijah Wood. My purse will fly open, and he'll help me pick up all the whimsical things I carry around like fairy wings and postcards from exotic places. Instantly he'll fall madly in love with me and we'll make passionate love in Danielle Steels mansion...I better wear my pink lace panties today." Don't you wonder, if they saying 'dress for the job you want, not the job you have' is true or not? And if it is true, I should totally rethink some things.

My dream job has always been to be famous, and yes, that is a job. Over the past decade I've narrowed it down though. I'd like to be a professional famous person who is famous for singing karaoke, wearing fantastical costumes, and performing hilarious comedy. Sorta like a personality of sorts. So my goal right now is to save up some money to buy more comically large bows and Chanel red lipstick.

But that sounds like so much work. Maybe I can start dressing like a hobo. It'd be easy as pie, and maybe it would force to to lose weight and save some money on my water bill.

Or, I could dress like a tourist. Because somedays I wish I were also on vacation.

Or maybe I could dress like an astronaut. I could just walk up to NASA, get some feeze dried ice cream in the cafeteria, make pals with someone by complimenting them, slip into the space shuttle through the trunk door, and boom I'd be in space.

OR! I could dress like a CIA agent, because that would be like the opposite of dressing like something. Walk into headquarters, again compliment someone who would then ask to have lunch with me. We'd eat cheeseburgers and someone I could convince them to send that I needed to go on special assignment to the South of France but not without kidnapping Elijah Wood first.

I wish it wern't true. But, oh my god, it is. I yacked my brains out once on the bus. I had just eaten a beautiful stack of steaming hot pancakes, so when I threw up it looked like a watered down batter. I did it to myself, the evening before I'd spent downing shots of fernet. I woke up and headed to work, but before that I had the genius idea to eat some pancakes to help my hangover. So wrong! Don't carb load, greasy foods like bacon and French fries with a large glass of iced tea is what I should have chosen.

I boarded the bus, sat down and passed out, like a homeless person, feet up on the seat infront of me. I woke up 10min later with an older lady telling me, "you have such tiny feet!! Look at them!! They are so tiny!!" and just like a homeless person I responded by throwing up. No throw up landed on the lady talking to me. Instead I held it in my mouth with my fingers while steams of it began to drip down my cheeks. The doors flew open just in time for part of it to land on the steps and the rest on the sidewalk. Truly a crowning moment in my life. I hope my children read this story and think "wow, my mother is pretty much the coolest."

Monday, August 1, 2011

1. I cannot spell my way out of paper bag. I mean I'm okay at it, but that's only thanks to modern technology. I for example typed the word "comedian" into a google search, because my inner critic was telling me 'huh, that sure is a funny looking word, I bet you spelled it wrong.' I didn't inner critic, so suck it. And for the record, record, I do spell a whole lot better than my little cousin...his most recent facebook post was this:

"i r board"

I love this quote for so many reasons. And I do love my cousin. He is only 15 and has been raised on auto spell check....which he seems to not have learned how to use quite yet.

So getting back to the main event...my RECORD.

2. I intend to use this online space as a place for me to rant and rave, and hopefully work up some fantastic material thatI can hopefully use when taking over the comedy world.